


Hannigram Tumblr Ficlets

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Episode: s02e07 Yakimono, Episode: s02e08 Su-zakana, First Kiss, Fluff, Horror, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short fics originally posted on <a href="http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Do

He lets the rings tumble from his fingers, spilling down into Hannibal’s lap. Will worries for a moment that the gesture has gone unnoticed. Hannibal sits looking out into the yard, moonlight reflecting off the damp cobblestone in the garden.

He lets his gaze fall after a moment, eying the rings as if they are out of place here in this little life they have carved out together.

“I found them in that little shop in town,” Will says into the silence. “I don’t know if they’re even going to fit. I haven’t tried mine on yet.”

The rings are rustic but elegant, slim bands of oxidized silver inlayed with deep green malachite. Will found himself entranced by the delicate yet intricate pattern, picturing the metal glinting in the sun, wrapped around Hannibal’s finger. He bought them without another thought after that.

“I know we can’t do anything official,” Will continues as Hannibal rolls one of the bands between his fingers. “But I just thought–”

“Something for just the two of us?” Hannibal takes the smaller of the two rings, holding it high and turning it over to glisten in the light of the moon.

“Yes.”

“Well then, my love,” Hannibal turns to him, taking his hand and slowly slipping the band onto his finger. “I will.” It is a perfect fit. “I do.”

Will’s smile stretches so wide it aches where it pulls at his scar, and he is not at all surprised when Hannibal’s ring fits like it was made for him.


	2. A Little Treat

“Hannibal,” Will purrs, hoisting himself onto the countertop, Hannibal hard at work preparing their lunch. “Have you seen my pants?”

Hannibal’s eyes lock onto him, Will in nothing but a tight pair of boxer briefs, hair mussed and thick-framed glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. If anyone else dared sit on Hannibal’s counter in their underwear he would snap their neck on sight. But this is Will, thighs spread and cock visibly hard through the thin fabric of his shorts, and Hannibal’s hands are on him faster than he realizes he’s even dropped his knife to clatter to the floor.

“Well, my love, I believe you have many pairs of pants to choose from.” Hannibal’s fingers trail up and down the soft flesh of Will’s inner thigh. “If you are referring to your pants from last night, however, they are in the wash.”

“Such a shame. These shorts just won’t do on their own. Guess I have no choice but to…” Will leans their foreheads together, coy smile painted across his face. “Take them off right here.”

Will lifts his hips, shoving his shorts down to his knees and kicking them to the floor. He leans back, spreading his thighs wider, presenting himself up for Hannibal to taste.

“You’ve been working so hard,” Will closes his eyes, throwing his head back, exposing the long line of his neck. “I thought I’d bring you a little treat.”

Will moans the moment Hannibal’s lips make contact with the head of his cock, tongue lapping at his slit, gripping his hips with strong hands, pinning him to the counter.

“You can never say no to this, can you?” Will grips the back of Hannibal’s neck, fucking up into his mouth as Hannibal moans around him. “Can never get enough of my cock, hm?”

Hannibal hums his agreement, moaning as Will slides easily into his throat, overwhelmed with the knowledge that this has become his reality. Time did not reverse, the teacup will never gather itself together again, but what they have created anew, together, is more remarkable than anything the past could have offered them.

Will likes to come in his face, wants to anoint him, mark his territory, but Hannibal craves nothing more than to taste. He doesn’t pull back for even a second, breathing heavily through his nose, face buried in Will’s lap as he comes. Hannibal greedily swallows down every drop, more delicious, and certainly more sacred, than what he had been preparing before this very welcome interruption.


	3. What Exists

What exists between them is a living thing, real as blood and bone. It destroys as it creates, bright as early morning sun, black as ravens claws. It leaves bodies in its wake, loves with trembling fingers, supple lips tinged crimson as they crash together in the night.

What exists between them is death incarnate, searing heat and roiling waves, burning, singeing, drowning, taking with icy claws and pointed teeth. It bubbles and it boils, simmering low inside their bellies, the only remedy for the shadows where they cowered away in loneliness for far too long.

What exists between them is a blade, plunged right between the ribs, an organ thrumming long after it has choked. It tears and it pulls, shattering cold against the floor, lodging shards beneath their tongues and in their chests, shimmering as it gathers itself together again.

“What exists between us goes beyond conventional. Beyond love,” Hannibal says, their prey sizzling on the stove. “It is perhaps even far beyond anything you or I could ever hope to understand.”

“We don’t need convention. We don’t need to be defined.” Will wraps his arms around Hannibal from behind, rests his head between his shoulders. “All we need is this.”

Will has bruises on his knuckles, a long gash that runs along one wrist and curves up onto his palm. Sometimes your prey remembers that it, too, has claws. He runs his hands across the expanse of Hannibal’s shoulders, smiling at his wounds, memories of the hunt.

“We will draw Jack Crawford to us if we are not more careful,” Hannibal says, his words rumbling inside Will’s head as he presses his ear to Hannibal’s back.

“Let him come.” Will nuzzles into the smooth fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, hands resting on the soft swell of his belly. “We’ll take him down like all the rest.”

“We are not invincible, Will, as much as it appears we might be.” Hannibal tugs Will’s hands away, spinning around and pulling him to rest against his chest. “Don’t allow what exists between us to turn reckless.”

Hannibal makes him reckless, this much Will knows for sure. He stirs up bloodlust in his belly, drives him to throw caution to the wind, carving love letters from flesh, wanting the whole world to see who they are.

What exists between them is the end and the beginning, fragments of each other all stitched together, the taste of blood in a hungry mouth. Reckless, selfish, starving, an endless feedback loop destined to self destruct.


	4. Food of the Dead

“The food of the dead.” Hannibal holds a single crimson seed up to catch the light, squeezing until the juices stain his fingers. “It drew Persephone back to the Underworld every Autumn, plants withered and died in her absence.”

“Some would call it the fruit of life.” Will brings Hannibal’s fingers to his lips, tongue darting out to lap at the sweetness. “She comes back every Spring, after all.”

“She does.” Hannibal takes an aril between his fingers, pressing it to Will’s lips until he takes it inside. “And it was only after tasting this sacred fruit that she could not return to the life she had known before.”

“Her teacup shattered.” Will places several seeds in the palm of his hand. They shimmer like faceted jewels.

“A symbolic death. Necessary for her own rebirth.” Hannibal pops a seed into his mouth, letting the juices stain his lips, knowing Will cannot resist.

Will takes Hannibal’s face between his hands, crashing their mouths together and licking across the swell of his bottom lip. Hannibal tastes like life after death. Like being born again.


	5. Stain

It happens by accident, Hannibal roughly grabbing Will by the front of his shirt at the dinner table, crashing their mouths together in a hungry kiss, Will’s wine glass propelled forward by the force of Hannibal’s arm, staining the front of Will’s crisp white shirt a deep burgundy.

They can’t stop laughing, Hannibal undressing Will right there at the table, lapping at the droplets left behind on his neck, his collarbone, the sweet wine mingling with the intoxicating taste of Will’s skin, and Hannibal can’t help but grab his own glass, tipping it until deep red streaks are running down Will’s shoulder.

It’s not long before Hannibal is kneeling before Will at the table, spilling wine down his chest and hungrily licking up every drop.

“Do the wine and I pair well together?” Will half laughs, half moans out the words as Hannibal laps at a single drop clinging to one nipple.

“The most exquisite pairing I have ever experienced, my love.” Hannibal smiles up at him through wine-stained lips, fingers blindly fumbling at Will’s belt.


	6. Here With Me

The first crash of lips feels like waves, pummeling him breathless faster than the icy waters of the Atlantic. There is a stillness to it, the way Will gently cradles his face, but Hannibal’s hands are shaking and he’s suddenly uncertain what he should do with them.

He settles for clutching at the front of Will’s shirt, sighing happily as Will slowly licks into his mouth. The kiss lasts for less than a minute, but to Hannibal it is a small eternity of waiting and wanting and wonder finally washing over him.

“I always wondered what that would feel like.” Will’s words are barely above a whisper as he ducks his head and pulls away.

“And what did it feel like?”

“You were there.” Will locks eyes with him, coy smile tugging at his mouth. 

“I was.” Hannibal returns the smile. “And I am.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Will says, crowding his body against Hannibal’s once more, pulling him into an embrace. “That’s how it felt. Like… I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Hannibal holds Will close, pressing kisses into his hair, their hearts beating in tandem as the world around them fades away.


	7. Beginning

“How will you take your life back?” Hannibal asks. 

Will knows Hannibal is already aware of the answer, knew why Will had come the moment he opened the door and ushered him inside.

“I’d like to resume my therapy,” Will says, as calm and collected inside as his outward appearance suggests.

“Where shall we begin?”

They sit in silence for a moment, warm light from the fireplace dancing across Hannibal’s face, darkness etched into the lines around his eyes. Will rises to his feet, crosses the room until he is only inches from Hannibal’s chair.

Instinct overwhelms him as he reaches for the front of Hannibal’s sweater, jerking him forward and straddling his thigh as their mouths come together in a kiss that’s more teeth than lips at first.

“I think,” Will says, shoving Hannibal roughly back down again. “This is as good a place to begin as any."


	8. Reckoning

“Pull over,” Will says, the first words he’s spoken since they climbed inside the car.

Hannibal gives him a curious look as he pulls off onto the shoulder, snow falling softly against the windows, not another car in sight.

“You were right.” Will streaks his fingers across the windshield, fog already forming on the glass. “Killing Clark Ingram wasn’t the reckoning I promised myself.”

“Do you intend on fulfilling that promise, Will?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you to take what you believe you deserve,” Hannibal says, far too calmly for what his words suggest. “I want you to understand the depths of your own power and control.”

“Dr. Lecter,” Will says, shifting in his seat and reaching out to grip Hannibal’s throat with one strong hand. “If you wanted me to take control, you only needed to ask.”

Hannibal swallows thickly as Will tightens his grip, but makes no move to pull away, the soft glow of the street lamps illuminating the desire in his eyes.

“Drive.” Will pulls his hand away, sly smile on his face as he buckles up again. “I’m going to show you exactly the sort of reckoning I have in mind.”


	9. Come In

He feels the rush of blood behind his eyes, gilded gold around the edges of his vision as he fights to keep them shut. The steam pouring out through the doorway is warm against his skin, and when his eyelids flutter open he feels he is adrift on the sea, great plumes of fog pooling at his ankles.

Hannibal draws back the curtain, stepping out into the haze and toweling off his hair as he pads across the floor, swiping a hand across the mirror when he reaches the sink. If he sees Will standing there, staring through the half-open door, he doesn’t let on at all.

His tan line sits low on his hips, slim waist giving way to broad, muscled shoulders, water beading down his back. The off-center Verger brand stands out in stark contrast against his skin, the entry wound from Francis Dolarhyde’s bullet an angry red gnarl below.

The gashes along the backs of his arms, jagged as the cliff face that caused them, have healed over nicely. Once peppered with Will’s shaky stitches, they are now nothing more than baby-pink streaks atop his flesh. Time will take most of them away, but the worst will stay etched there forever. Scar tissue memorials, evidence of when their lives began anew.

Will devours every inch of flesh with hungry eyes, muffling a sigh when Hannibal wraps the towel around his waist. He’s never gazed at him like this before, his own body too broken during the previous weeks to spare much thought for pleasure. Now, he can’t seem to look away.

“It’s impolite to stare,” Hannibal says over his shoulder, Will so transfixed for a moment that the words barely register.

“I was just–” Will suddenly wants to run, but his limbs are like deadweight.

“Please, Will.” Hannibal turns to him, the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Come in.”


	10. i think i'll eat your heart

After dinner, Hannibal served Will dessert out on the veranda. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, twilight burning the last hints of daylight from the sky. The tray that was set before Will held a chocolate confection in the shape of a perfectly anatomical heart.

Will laughed. “This is about what I expected from you.”

“The size is approximate to a male of my age and size,” Hannibal said, as if it were the most normal, obvious thing to observe.

“You want me to eat your heart?”

Hannibal smiled, teeth poking out. “I think you’ll find you already have,” he said. “Though the inside of this particular heart is filled with a sanguinaccio dolce variation made from my own blood.”

Will froze, fork in hand. “I think that should surprise me more than it does.”

“Is ingesting my blood really so different from ingesting my semen?”

“Hannibal, please tell me you didn’t…”

“I assure you, I did not. Though if you would prefer next time–”

“Hannibal. You’re not jizzing in my dessert.”

Hannibal could only nod, smile bright as the sun being swallowed by the night. Will cut into the heart with the tines of his fork and watched the filling run darkly across the plate, then dipped in and took a bite, letting it melt sweetly on his tongue.


	11. this is the monster who cannot love me

Up the stairs and down the hall, Hannibal let Will lead him. Shame roiled darkly in Will’s bones. He was thankful for the night.

Hannibal moved beneath him, reptilian and lithe. Will held fast to Hannibal’s shoulders until he stilled. “Just let me,” he whispered. “Let me…”

In the night it was easier to pretend. This is the monster who loves me. There in the ticking dark, Hannibal pressed beneath him on the bed, Will could almost allow himself to believe.

Will sunk in his teeth, scraping hot against flesh and bone. Trailing bruises along his clavicle, Hannibal began to moan.

“Will.”

Hannibal’s fingers tangled in Will’s curls as he moved his body lower, mouthing down to Hannibal’s bony hips. Lower still, Hannibal was hard, dripping, a quiet ache begging for the warm embrace of Will’s lips.

“Please.”

Arousal coursed through Will like agony. He didn’t bother teasing Hannibal before swallowing him whole. He choked on Hannibal’s pleasure, rutting against the mattress for his own, and when they came, in tandem, tumbling over that inevitable edge, Will let the tears spring from his eyes.

This is the monster who cannot love me. Will curled away from Hannibal on the bed. They were silent. It was dark. Eventually, Hannibal began to move. Will experienced it all with his eyes shut. Hannibal rising from the bed, rustling about the room. He covered Will with a blanket and exited into the hall.

There, alone and cocooned, Will wished away his impossible love.


	12. IT AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little ficlet inspired by a certain scene in the new It film. Basically an AU where Hannibal whispers murder to young Will from the television.

Will was no dummy. Small for his age, sure. A wimp if he were being honest. But what he lacked in strength and stature, he made up for in smarts.

And if smart people know one thing, it’s that the people in the television can’t see you. Which means that they can’t speak to you. Which means that the man in the suit with the dark eyes couldn’t possibly be calling Will’s name.

“You,” the man drawled, his accent thick and foreign. “There. Yes, you. Will Graham.”

Will’s little heart fluttered in his chest. In the recliner, Dad snored and let his book fall down into his lap.

“This isn’t real,” Will whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and counting to ten. When he opened them again, the man was still there, gazing with those hypnotic eyes.

“Will Graham. Where does your father keep his hunting knives?”

“You’re not real,” Will said to the television. “You can’t be real.”

“Yet I am.” The man smiled. Maniacal. Will knew that word because he was smart and smart people don’t talk to the television.

Will shot to his feet and turned the dial on the television to off. There was a thunk and the screen cut to black, swallowing the man and his smile. But as quickly as the picture had disappeared, it was back again.

“Not so quick, my little mongoose. I’m not finished with you just yet.”

Will’s palms began to sweat and he wiped them down the front of his jeans. “What do you want from me?”

“The knives, Will. Where does he keep them?”

With one trembling hand, Will pointed to the cabinet near the door. “Locked,” was the only word he could manage. Slowly, the man was drawing Will in with his gaze.

“Find the key,” the man whispered. “Find the key for me, Will, and we’ll be friends forever.”

“Friends?”

“Best friends.”

“I don’t even know your name,” Will said, so close to the television now that the man’s face had dissolved into a collection of light and pixels, his eyes like two crimson beacons.

“Hannibal,” the man said. “You can call me Hannibal.”

Smiling now, head full of static, Will turned to his father.


	13. the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @avegetariancannibal who requested a little comfort in the form of Will and Hannibal stranded in a storm. <3

The power had been out for hours. Outside, the sky flashed and rain came down in sheets. Soon, the motel’s parking lot would disappear beneath the rising water.

Will sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, its old mattress creaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere tonight.”

Hannibal smiled. “It’s all right. We have plenty of leftovers from lunch. And the bed is big enough for two.”

Will tugged at the collar of his shirt, suddenly over-warm. “This mattress is terrible. You deserve your own bed tonight. I shouldn’t have asked you to come all this way for something we could have discussed over the phone.”

Hannibal crossed the room and joined Will on the bed. “I came because I wanted to.”

Hannibal’s face, soft and familiar, tugged at something deep in Will’s bones. The sky rumbled. The world poured. Will closed his eyes and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Thank you for being here,” Will said.

Hannibal reached out a hand, curling it around the dome of Will’s skull, cradling his weary mind. “I can think of no place else I’d rather be.”

“When I was a kid I was afraid of storms. I’d beg my dad to let me stay home from school at the first sight of rain.”

“And how do you feel about them now?”

“I always sleep better during a storm. I was afraid because I didn’t understand.”

“And now you do.”

“And now I do.”

Hannibal pulled his hand away, nudging Will upright. Turning their bodies toward one another, Hannibal cradled Will’s face. “I’ve always been fond of the rain,” he said, leaning in.

Eyes closed, their lips met, and together they became the storm.


	14. first kiss

Will kissed Hannibal for the first time in the middle of an argument. It had started over something so inconsequential. The variety of tomato they should plant in their garden. Will didn’t even care. He just wanted to fight.

“You think you know everything,” Will said.

“I know many things,” Hannibal replied with a smirk.

Will wanted to slap him.

“Maybe we just need a bigger house with a bigger garden. One big enough for your ego.”

“If you insist.”

Will made a sound that was half growl, half sigh, and gripped Hannibal by the shoulders. “Shut up,” he said, and without thinking wrenched Hannibal forward and pressed their lips together.

Tense and dry and full of teeth. This is how he would describe it. Their muscles pulled taut and the breath that passed between them tasted like a truce. When Will pulled back, Hannibal was wide-eyed and motionless.

“We’re not growing tomatoes in our garden,” Will said.

Hannibal nodded, a fire swelling in his eyes.


End file.
